


goodbye my hopeless dream

by amuk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Family, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Love, Post-Battle, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Five years ago, Sylvain had thought they could fix it all. That they could bring Dimitri to the Alliance, that they could end the war and save everyone. Yet…Felix lay face down, Ingrid sobbing on her knees, and Dimitri frozen forever mid snarl. He wasn’t sure how he could pick the pieces up after this, but he had to try.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	goodbye my hopeless dream

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sylvgrid BB, for watercolorvigilante’s heartbreaking work. I love the angst of separating the Faerghus Four.

Something was burning. Sylvain stuck his lance in the dirt carelessly, ignoring every lesson he’d ever learned about proper weapon care, and closed his eyes. Something was burning. Possibly _someone_ , the air was full of fat and smoke and his throat grew drier with every breath. There were dozens of small fires nearby, the only outcome in the middle of a battlefield, where mages scorched the earth and fiery arrows rained down on their ashes.

He opened his eyes. Before him spread a war-torn field, survivors picking dragging themselves off the fields and to their respective armies. Something bitter filled his mouth as he saw the bodies strewn across the field, blood pooling in the mud. Crows cawed as they perched on bare trees, their beady eyes taking in the field, and vultures circled above as they eyed their food.

Five years ago, the Battle of Lion and Eagle had been nothing like this. Five years ago, they had all been just kids fighting for bragging rights and victory letters to send home, for stories to seduce strangers and that shiny glory that had seemed all too important at the time.

Five years ago, he had been in with the Kingdom, not the Alliance. Now his Golden Deer family were scattered across the field, helping each other back. The Empire was long gone, Edelgard leaving behind the wounded and the dead alike. The Kingdom was torn apart, shredded into pieces. And Dimitri…

Sylvain shivered at the memory. The one-eyed, raging monster he’d seen hours ago hadn’t been any friend he’d known. The only thing that had motivated him was a long-nursed hatred, one that Sylvain hadn’t seen for all the years he’d known him.

Or maybe he had avoided seeing it, just like how he was now avoiding the dead spread around him, trying not to look at their faces. He didn’t want to see another classmate he used to sneak out with, another beauty he’d flirted with in the shadows.

He was certain Ingrid was doing the exact opposite. She’d always had a masochist streak and unlike him was probably all too intent on memorizing every person she’d killed.

Sylvain looked up. It had been hours since he’d seen her Pegasus. “Ingrid?”

Dread filled him and he yanked his lance out of the dirt. This was Ingrid he was thinking of. She was unkillable. Even Felix’s hardest glares and Sylvain’s worst lies hadn’t done the job.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. Whistling, he waited impatiently for his steed to gallop over. His horse’s silken mane was matted in blood and dirt. Grabbing the saddle, Sylvain slung himself over. “I bet I look just as bad,” he murmured, patting his horse’s neck once before squeezing his thighs. “When we find Ingrid, I’ll make sure she gives you her special mixture.”

His horse nickered and quickly trotted through the field. Sylvain scanned his surroundings as they moved, searching for the pure white Pegasus or even just Ingrid’s blonde hair. As he looked, he avoided checking the bodies, _refused_ to check the bodies.

There was no need.

Ingrid wouldn’t be lying in the dirt like that. Not after all the times she’d yelled at him for his slovenly room.

Instead of blonde, he spotted pink. He turned his head.

Ingrid would have stopped. 

Sylvain gritted his teeth and guided his horse across the field. A tired, limping Hilda looked up blearily. With her stockings torn, hair awry, and a nasty cut along her chest, she looked as bad as he felt. She even dragged her axe instead of carrying it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He slipped off his horse, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped her out of the ditch. “You’ve looked better.”

“I’d say you’ve looked worse, but that’s a lie.” Hilda grinned crookedly as she leaned on him. She felt impossibly small, nothing at all like the mischievous woman who was Claude’s right hand. “Glad you made it.”

“Me too.” Sylvain swallowed. “Did you see Ingrid?”

He held his breath as she frowned and shook her head. “No…not for a while.” Noticing his face, Hilda squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a strong bitch.”

Sylvain couldn’t laugh at the old joke. They’d exchanged it many times after Ingrid had scolded them or knocked them on their asses during practice. “She’s really strong.” His voice came out more of a whisper than he’d intended.

“The strongest,” she agreed, pulling away. Leaning on her axe, she patted his back. “You go find her.”

Sylvain hesitated. “Your chest—”

“Needs Marianne’s loving attention,” Hilda interrupted, winking. Though, with the dirt streaked on her cheeks and her pale skin, she didn’t look half as flirty as she acted. “I can make it back from here.” She forced herself to stand a little straighter but for all her acting, she couldn’t hide her wince. “Who knows, maybe Ingrid’s there already. She’ll be too busy nursing me to health to take care of you.”

Hilda waggled her brows. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Ingrid would have helped her regardless.

For all of her faith in him, he’d never been half as good as she’d hoped and not even a quarter as good as she was. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, letting his guilt and fear chase him as he vaulted onto his horse once more, spurring it through the field as though death itself were after them.

Hilda wasn’t critically injured, at least. She could stand and she could joke and one of the others would find her in no time. They’d laugh about it later and she’d tease that he had tunnel vision when it came to Ingrid. The dense idiot that she was, Ingrid wouldn’t understand until maybe years down the road, when he told her everything.

He clenched his fist. “Ingrid? INGRID!”

The only response were the grunts and moans as other survivors crawled, hoping someone, anyone could come to their rescue. He’d save them all after he found Ingrid. He’d personally pick them up, carry them to Flayn and Manuela. He’d even wrap their bandages himself.

He just had to find Ingrid first.

“Sylvain!”

A familiar gold caught his eye, and for a moment Sylvain thought _Ingrid_ before realizing it was Claude’s torn cloak. He pulled his reins tight, heels digging into his horse as he came to a stop just beside the tired leader. Byleth wasn’t by his side for once. Maybe she was out there, picking up her former students.

Maybe she’d already found Hilda.

“Claude.” Sylvain tried to smile. It came out like a grimace. “Have you seen Ingrid?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Claude chuckled wryly, pulling his gloves off his fingers. His arms had small burns on them, the attacks of enemy mages, and Sylvain tried not to think how much that must have hurt as he loosed arrow after arrow. “No, not yet.”

“Hilda’s that way,” Sylvain blurted out, unable to stop himself. He jabbed over his shoulder. “She’ll need help.”

“Oh.” Claude blinked, resting his hand on the flank of Sylvain’s horse as he looked. His dragon wasn’t with him. Sylvain tried not to wonder why. “I’ll get her then. Thanks.”

They stood there a moment, neither of them moving. Sylvain’s horse panted, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath.

“I…I didn’t think it’d end like this,” Claude admitted quietly, barely audible over the wind. “Edelgard…I knew she wouldn’t listen, but Dimitri?”

It was like a gut punch, remembering Dimitri. When he and Ingrid had heard Dimitri had survived his execution, they’d sworn to bring him over to Claude’s side. Dimitri had been a reasonable person, after all. He should have been reasonable now.

_Goddess, why hadn’t he been reasonable now?_ Sylvain thought, looking away. “I thought he’d come around.”

“Me too. We could have avoided so much…” Claude trailed off. It wasn’t like simple bloodshed could describe everything they’d experienced here today.

“Maybe next time,” Sylvain croaked, licking his chapped lips nervously. The air was still far too dry. It was hard to breathe. “We can talk to Dimitri again. Maybe after he’s had time to calm down.”

Claude snapped his head to him, his expression unreadable. After a few, heart-pounding seconds, he pointed to his left. “Is that a Pegasus?”

Immediately, Sylvain jerked his head up. Further up the hill, almost at the treeline, he could just make out a white horse. A pure white horse, sitting on the ground.

It had to be a Pegasus. It had to be Ingrid’s. He squeezed his thighs, urging his horse into a gallop as he hastily shouted, “Thanks!”

He really did have tunnel vision. Sylvain couldn’t tell anyone, even himself, how he got to Ingrid, what the route was like, anything really. He just kept his eyes fixed on the white horse, watched as its sides became wings and the saddle on its back took on the familiar markings of Ingrid’s. There was no blood on it, as far as he could tell, no injuries at all aside from a few ruffled feathers.

That was good, right? It must have been tired after the long fight. Maybe Ingrid was letting it rest before heading to camp. “Ingrid?” he called out as he reached, jumping off his horse without even waiting for a response.

The silence worried him. She wasn’t beside her steed and she’d never abandon her partner. “Where is she?” he murmured, patting her Pegasus’s nose. Her partner whickered, turning to his right and further up the hill. A bright green cloak stood out amongst the bushes, a familiar coil of blonde braided hair crowning it.

_Ingrid._

She was kneeling next to someone. He could just make out their legs, still and unmoving. Of course, she was taking care of an injured solider, the bleeding heart she was. He’d bet the farm that she hadn’t even thought to look for him before doing that.

And if she was doing that, she couldn’t be that injured. Sighing with relief, he jogged to her. “There you are.”

Ingrid looked over her shoulder, cheeks stained with tears. “Sylvain,” she rasped, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for—” He couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_ after he saw Dimitri lying in front of her. His chest squeezed and he stumbled the final few steps to her side.

Unlike the raging man he’d seen hours ago, Dimitri was utterly still and calm as he lay there. His bright, blue eye stared unseeing at the sky, his mouth half-open as though mid-way through a roar. Ingrid whimpered and Sylvain stared at the lance stuck in Dimitri’s chest.

_Luin_.

Bile rose in his throat and Sylvain barely crawled forward more than a few steps before he vomited in the bushes. _Oh no. Oh no no no_. He could just picture it now. Dimitri and Ingrid. And Felix—Sylvain couldn’t stop himself before he looked for a familiar fur-lined jacket.

There was a sword in his hand. He’d died as he’d lived. Sylvain vomited again.

“It’s my fault,” Ingrid sobbed, curling into herself. “I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a second time at the sound. Wiping his mouth, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to her side. Sylvain forced back his uneasy stomach, forced back his growing numbness and pain, and gathered her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she repeated, apologizing over and over even as she pressed into him. “ _It is._ ”

And he couldn’t argue with that, not when her lance was in Dimitri’s chest. It wasn’t like five years ago, when she’d been crushed after they’d changed houses—no one could have predicted the looming war, the fact that they’d be disowned by their own families for something as simple as following their beliefs.

It wasn’t like years ago, after Glen’s death, when Dimitri had broken down, Felix had hardened, and Ingrid had holed herself in her room. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault then. They’d been just kids, taking on more than they should have.

Now, there was only Ingrid.

And Dimitri’s blood was on her hands.

Bile rose once more, pricking his tongue, but he forced it back down. She’d break if he said anything else. She’d break and then he’d break with her. Sylvain buried his face in her hair and shook his head. “Not true.”

“I…I did it,” she sobbed, her fingers digging into his sides.

“He would have killed you.” He realized the truth of his words as he said them. Dimitri would have killed her. The others from their house might not have. Annette and Mercedes and maybe even Dedue could have been talked down, but not Dimitri.

Dimitri hadn’t been himself for a long while.

Maybe he’d always been like that. Felix had been right, calling him a boar.

“He would have killed you,” he repeated, stronger now, hugging her tighter. Sylvain could hear her breath, hear her heart beat like a frightened rabbit. She was alive. She was in one piece. She’d made it through. “You had to protect yourself.”

“I could have injured him,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer as though to hide away from it all. “I could have knocked him out.”

“Anyone else, sure, but not Dimitri. Never Dimitri.” Sylvain closed his eyes. Even before it all, Dimitri would never let himself get captured. Killed, sure, but never captured. “He’s too strong. _Was_ too strong.”

The _was_ stung, burned on his tongue like an ember. Felix _had been_ loyal. Dimitri _had been_ a friend. They’d never be anything else anymore. They might never be anything but the two, angry bodies on the grass. It was hard to remember their smiles when all he could picture was their pale, frozen faces.

“I should have tried,” she insisted, shoulders shaking as she cried. “I should have…I…he’s dead, Sylvain. _Dead_. They both are and I…”

“I know, I know.” Sylvian stroked her hair, pulling back just enough to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Years ago, she’d done the same for him when he’d killed his brother; he wasn’t sure when he’d started looking at her differently, but he was certain the roots of it had been then. He hoped it brought her twice as much comfort as it had given him, this warmth, this forgiveness and love and gentle acceptance.

She wailed, a wordless cry that sounded more animal than human. He remembered the maids talking about banshees and their mournful screams, and it had to sound something like this. Still stroking her hair, he let her cry it all out, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Dimitri or Felix. There was probably a better way to help. Mercedes and Annette had been good at it. He should have learned from them when he had the chance.

He should have done so much more before this all happened, but he’d been barely able to help himself for years, let alone others.

And now it was just them.

No, not just them. Sylvain bit his cheek. That was what had caused this war in the first place, this stubborn belief that they had to stand alone. That was why he and Ingrid had left the Blue Lions in after all, for Claude’s vision of unity. There was Raphael and his hugs, Hilda and her jokes, even Marianne and her quiet companionship.

He could try again. Better this time, in fact. Ingrid hiccupped and he pulled away slightly, still keeping her in the circle of his arms. Now that he was looking at her properly, he could see the cuts on her arms, the gash on her side. Small injuries, for fighting Dimitri, but injuries nonetheless. Sylvain knew every trick in the book when it came to convincing Ingrid to do something that was good for her, even if it was something as unrelenting as guilt.

“Let’s go back to camp together,” he suggested gently, brushing her hair out of her face. Her puffy eyes, still red from her tears, started to slide away from his, to where Dimitri’s corpse grew colder with the passing minute. Before she could, he carefully cupped her cheek, forcing her to stay still. “We need to get patched up.”

“But…Di…Dimitri and Felix,” she mumbled, not fighting him for once.

“We can get them later.” Sylvain didn’t even have to try this time, he just smiled. She’d always been able to draw those out of him, even if she never realized it. “I’ll come back.”

“Me…Me too.” Ingrid shook her head. “I’ll help.”

He bit his lip before reluctantly nodding. There was time to argue about that later. “Okay. Can you stand?”

She nodded. Sylvain wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly hoisting her up as he stood. Keeping his grip firm, he called for his horse. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to fly, so let’s take my horse, okay?”

“Sure.” She sounded distracted, but he didn’t think much of it. With everything that happened, it was hard to focus. As his horse stopped beside him, he let go and quickly adjusted the saddle bags and straps. “You get on first.”

Ingrid didn’t reply and when he turned around, she was beside Dimitri once more. Silently, he cursed himself as he ran back to her side. “Ingrid!”

She didn’t respond, unbuckling her cloak instead. Gently, she spread it out over Dimitri’s body, covering him like she used to put blankets on them as kids, all tired out from practice. Leaning forward, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cold forehead. “Could you give me your cloak?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate before yanking what was left of his off and draping it gently on her shoulders. Ingrid shook her head, pulling it off. “It’s not for me.” 

She moved a little further into the forest, to Felix this time, and tucked the cloak around him. Her fingers shook as she brushed his hair out of his face. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered something he couldn’t hear before getting up.

“Let’s go back.” Ingrid grabbed his hand now and this time he didn’t let go.

“Yeah.” He didn’t ask her what she said. Sylvain had his own, private words for them, things he’d never repeat to anyone. When they reached his horse, he still kept his grip tight as he hopped on first. She raised a brow, the closest to a positive expression he’d seen so far. Not bothering to explain, he helped pull her up, settling her on his lap in a side-saddle manner.

“I haven’t ridden like this since we were kids,” Ingrid commented, a little stiff as she looked at her dangling feet.

“Not since you realized knights had to ride on their own.” He waited a second before asking. “Just this once?”

“It’s silly.” Yet, she didn’t jump off, didn’t protest, just leaned against him.

He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around her, taking the reins and urging his horse into a gentle trot. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes. “Thanks.” 


End file.
